“I understand, Uncle,” Ranya said. “Go with God.”
Rashid nodded. He looked weary, more exhausted than Ranya had ever seen him. He had made a life of avoiding difficult things, and now that they had found him anyway, he was not ready to meet them. “There is something more,” he said, and his face seemed to crumple as she watched. “Your aunt Yasmin is dead, Ranya. She was in the Blue Tower when one of the orbital strikes made a direct hit. No one … no one survived.”
Ranya felt a dagger of grief in the center of her chest. “Lina and Sabrina?” she whispered. Her cousins were only children!
“Sabrina was with Yasmin,” Rashid said. “Lina is alive, but she was trapped in a different part of the palace and the guards couldn’t get her to my transport. They’re going to try to get her out on foot.”
“Uncle—” she began, but then her voice caught in the throat. She couldn’t think of anything to say.
A sudden jarring movement made Rashid grasp his seat restraints as he shook from side to side. Ranya heard voices shouting in panic and warning. When the image steadied again, he had to raise his voice to make himself heard. “It seems that there are Dremish combat flyers in our vicinity,” he told Ranya. “We may not be able to continue this conversation for long.”
Ranya finally found her voice. “Get to safety,” she urged the sultan. “We will find a way to fight back. This will not be the end for us, I promise you.”
“Fighting back is the only thing Gadirans know how to do,” Rashid said sadly. “We are a contentious race. Our great tragedy is that all our power of defiance is spent on the wrong targets. The caids are not wrong to—”
The screen went black. Static burst in her ears, and then images flickered across the screen—fire, smoke, a startling blue glimpse of tumbling sky and mountainside—accompanied by a terrible roar. Ranya snatched the headset away, and stared at the screen. “Uncle Rashid!” she cried. “Uncle Rashid!”
Around her, the command center erupted into chaos. Shouts and cries of panic filled the room. Desperately, Ranya tried to restore the connection. “Captain Zakur!” she called. “I’ve lost the sultan!”
Zakur didn’t answer. In fact, the whole room fell silent a moment later. Ranya looked up, and found every man in the command center staring at one small screen. It showed the wreckage of a transport scattered over the barren shoulder of a mountain; a heavy flyer of a design unfamiliar to her orbited the crash site lazily, and then drifted away. “What is it?” Ranya demanded. “What happened?”
“The sultan’s transport,” Zakur said. “It’s been shot down.”
Ranya stared at the screen, hoping for some hint of a miracle. Perhaps he’d somehow been thrown clear of the wreckage, or perhaps there was a mistake and he wasn’t actually on board that transport, but in her heart she knew that she gazed on a scene of grim finality. There would be no miraculous escape this time. “He is dead,” she said slowly—a statement, not a question.
“Yes, Amira,” the guard captain said. He covered his eyes and looked away, the first time in her life that Ranya had ever seen Tarek Zakur flinch from anything. “He is.”
Slowly, Ranya got to her feet. She felt the eyes of the soldiers in the crowded command center shifting to her, and suddenly she felt the overwhelming need to get out of the room. Somehow she retained the presence of mind to walk deliberately instead of running, brushing tears from her eyes as she fled out to the yacht’s aft deck.
The daylight dazzled her eyes after the dim illumination of the vid displays and comm screens. Shihab was far enough out to sea that even the tallest buildings in Tanjeer were not visible over the horizon, but she could easily make out the jagged brown rampart of the coastal mountains east of the capital. God, lend me strength, she prayed as she gazed out over the bright sea. Her own fate didn’t concern her, but there seemed no end to the grief and sorrow that had been laid in store for the people around her. She thought of the gardens her uncle Rashid had tended so diligently on the grounds of El-Badi, and suddenly found herself filled with an overwhelming grief for her homeworld. The cycle of death and rage had to be ended, but how? If she somehow survived the day and defeated Salem el-Fasi, the caids would still be her enemies. And if she did not survive the day, then the caids would fight on against el-Fasi and the Dremish until they forced the offworlders to burn half the world in order to pacify them.
The caids … She thought about what Rashid had said just before the missiles hit. Was that what he was suggesting? She took a deep breath, examining the idea taking shape in her mind. It couldn’t possibly work, but what other choice did she have? Her own fate meant nothing when weighed against the fate of the whole planet.
Tarek Zakur approached slowly, hesitant to intrude on her. “Sultana, I am sorry,” he said in a ragged voice. “Your uncle was a better man than most people knew.”
Sultana? Ranya wondered. The title sounded ridiculous to her, almost disrespectful; she couldn’t make any claim to the throne. Someone would have to be chosen, there would have to be a logical decision about the succession … but she realized that she held the throne, whether she was ready for it or not. Ranya took a deep breath, and turned to face Zakur. “Thank you, Tarek. You served him well. What happened was not your fault.”
The captain bowed deeply, acknowledging her words. He straightened, his face once again impassive. “There are new reports of heavy fighting in Nador between Caid Ahmed el-Manjour’s people and our garrison there. And the Dremish have secured the Tanjeer spaceport. We are too close here; we need to set a course and get farther away from the capital before our enemies figure out where you are, Sultana.”
“If the Dremish cruiser remains in orbit, then nowhere on the planet is safe,” Ranya told Zakur. She glanced up at the sky; there was no hint of the furious battle raging overhead. “Pick the course that seems best to you.”
“Yes, Sultana.” Zakur hesitated. “What do you mean to do?”
“Am I that transparent?” Ranya asked.
“Only because I know you well, Sultana. You have decided on something, and you think I will not like it.”
“I think I will not like it,” she replied, and allowed herself a small ironic smile. “Contact all Royal Guard formations under our command. Order them to cease operations against Caidist forces and disengage to the best of their ability. We will turn our full force against Salem el-Fasi and his Dremish allies—they are the only enemy that matters. In fact, broadcast the command openly, and authenticate it as needed with our field commanders. I want everyone to know who we are fighting and why.”
Zakur nodded. “At once, Sultana. Our forces may need to defend themselves if the Caidists and insurgents continue their attacks, though.”
“Only to the minimum degree necessary,” Ranya said. “As for the Caidists, let me see what I can do about that. Put a call through to Hadji Tumar ibn Sakak.”
“The scholar?” Zakur frowned, a puzzled look on his face.
“Yes. It is my hope that he can help us.”
“As you wish, Sultana. I will have your orders relayed and I will have our communications specialists find Hadji Tumar for you.” Zakur bowed and went back belowdecks, heading for the command center.
Shihab turned toward the southeast and accelerated; the distant brown haze that marked the location of Tanjeer swung around slowly until it was directly astern. Evidently Tarek Zakur had some destination in mind, although Ranya doubted whether the yacht could get far enough away from the enemy forces in the capital to gain any measurable degree of safety. Even at her best speed, Shihab could not outrun Dremish assault shuttles—or kinetic strikes from orbit. Their best defense was looking innocuous. She moved to the lee rail and stared out over the waves, deliberately pushing her grief for her uncle and his family out of her mind, and thinking carefully about her next move.